Now, in the ceremonial hall of the shah’s palace in Teheran, Amira felt as if she were flying out on the thin air, the deadly earth rushing to meet her. Only Philippe could catch her, only he could save her. She was trusting him with her life.

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Amira had expected an exotic town of old Persia, narrow streets within ancient walls, a suitable setting for intrigue. In reality, Tabriz was a city of several hundred thousand, as modern and nearly as sprawling as Teheran.

They were greeted by the mayor of Tabriz and the governor of Azer- bai-jan-Sharghi province. Clearly, the Remali minister of culture was considered a very important guest. Amira and Ali had connecting suites that occupied most of the top floor of the Hotel Tabriz, with several of the hotel’s personnel assigned as servants. They also had their own SAVAK man lingering in the hallway.

The first order of business was an official lunch. The women ate separately from the men. Despite the city’s reputation, Amira could not say that the citizens of Tabriz were less friendly than people elsewhere; they simply smiled less. They also had the sense to provide good local cuisine rather than to attempt cosmopolitan delicacies.

The main dish was abgusht, a stew of potatoes, lentils, and thick chunks of fatty mutton. It tasted better than it sounded, although there was a trick to eating it: a mortar and pestle were provided for mashing the meat and potatoes to just the right consistency to mix with the broth. The governor’s wife showed Amira how to do it, but the too-polite cheers of the other women convinced her that she hadn’t got it quite right.

After lunch, there was an inspection of the Blue Mosque, the structure that Ali’s father, as a goodwill gesture to the Shia minority in his own country, had volunteered to restore. Amira did not enter the mosque, of course; she waited in a car with the governor’s wife and the wife of the mayor. Only a small part of the majestic building was open; the rest had an air of damage and neglect verging on ruin.

“It was built a little more than five hundred years ago, by the grace of God,” said the governor’s wife.

“What happened to it?” asked Amira. It took an effort to show interest. More than half of her mind was on the contact Philippe had mentioned. Where? When? Who? Was it one of these women?

“Earthquakes, mainly,” said the governor’s wife. “We have them often here—a very bad one just two years ago. But also invasions, fires—the usual thing.”